To Catch a Highlander (35 page)

Her cheeks now burned hotter than the coals in the fireplace. She curled her fingers into the palms of her hands to keep herself from yanking her neckline back up. "I need your opinion on a small personal matter."

His gaze sharpened. "Oh?"

"Yes." She took a step forward, taking up the ends of her sash and threading them through her fingers. "Sir Reginald, you are a man of fashion."

He couldn't help but preen a bit. "I am held to be something of a connoisseur." His gaze flickered over her form. "Especially of things feminine. I must say, I like your style best of all the ladies present. It is quiet, unassuming." His gaze flickered over her hair and face, moving back to her breasts. "And damnably beautiful."

She managed a smile, fighting the urge to cover herself. To pass over the embarrassing moment, she went past him to the window, staring outside with unseeing eyes. "The weather is certainly unpredictable here, isn't it?"

"It's always unpredictable when the MacLeans are involved."

She turned to look at him. "You've heard the rumors of the curse?"

"I've heard them and believe them." He moved beside her. "Don't you?"

The pocket she needed to reach was on his other side, blast it. "Do you think one of the MacLeans might be angry now?"

He looked over her head to the gathering clouds, a frown settling between his eyes. "Yes," he said quietly. "One of them is growing more furious by the moment."

A fresh wind now tossed the treetops about, the grass rippled like an angry ocean, and the clouds filled the entire sky. She remembered the huge storm the night of the card game, and a deep shiver shook her.

She rubbed her arms to rid herself of the goose bumps that prickled up and down them. She caught Sir Reginald's amused gaze and dropped her arms to her sides. "I don't believe in curses."

"As you wish, my dear." He crossed his arms over his chest and smiled down at her. "Forgive me if I am wrong, but you seem to have a lot on your mind. Do you care to share it? I am happy to be of assistance in…
any
way I can."

In for a penny, in for a pound
. Sophia stood on tiptoe, threw one arm about his neck, and kissed him. While he stood stock-still in surprise, she found his pocket.

She had it! She slipped the letter into her own pocket as she released him. "I'm so sorry! I don't know what came over me, but—"

Sir Reginald grasped her head, bent, and kissed her back.

Sophia was stunned. He wasn't supposed to do that!

She struggled against him, but he mistook her attempt for encouragement and kissed her more passionately. Sophia tried to turn her face away, for Sir Reginald's kiss was nothing like Dougal's. There was no exciting, prickly heat dancing up her spine, nothing but the annoying press of his lips to hers and—Good God, was that his tongue?

She gripped his wrists and freed her head, gasping an outraged "Sir Reginald!"

He gazed into her flushed face. "You're a handful, aren't you, my love?"

"I am not your love. Release me at once." Her voice was frosty.

He laughed softly, his arms tightening. "One of those, are you? That's fine with me. I like a chase."

"Sir Reginald, unhand me!"

"You kissed me first, love."

"That was an error."

"No, it wasn't." He flashed a smile. "I find you too charming by half."

"And I find you to annoying by far. If you do not release me, I cannot be held responsible for your well-being."

He chuckled at that. "A fiery little bundle, aren't you? I'll wager you like—"

She brought her foot down hard on his instep.

He yelped and released her, his face contorted in pain.

Sophia stepped past him, but he grabbed her arm and yanked her back toward him. "You tease!" he gasped.

She used her forward motion to shove him back, against the settee.

One moment, he was standing before her; the next, he was lying upside down on the rug behind the settee, his legs in the air.

Sophia gathered her skirts and ran for the door. She was only steps away when it flew open and Dougal stood in the opening.

He was dressed in his riding clothes, and she couldn't help but compare his elegance with Sir Reginald's flashy attire, with his exaggerated riding coat and gaudy gold-tasseled boots—which were still waving in the air.

Dougal's gaze narrowed on the man before he cut a glance at Sophia, his voice so cold it could chip ice. "What the hell is going on?"

The windowpane rattled, and the gathering storm rumbled.

Sophia grabbed Dougal's arm and tugged him back toward the door. She had to get them out of there before Sir Reginald realized she'd stolen his letter. "Come, let's see when dinner is to be served. I'm famished, and—"

Dougal shook his arm free, his gaze locked on Sir Reginald, who was rising. His hair was disarranged, his cravat sadly smashed, his coat and linens wrinkled. Any moment now, he'd start setting his clothing to rights and would discover that his pocket was empty.

Sophia said breathlessly, "Dougal, there's nothing to be seen here. Sir Reginald and I were merely talking." She sent Sir Reginald a quick glance. "Weren't we, my lord?"

He glared at her, adjusting his rumpled cravat. "Yes," he gritted out. "We were merely talking."

"And now I wish to change for dinner." She stepped past Dougal, but his hand clamped about her arm.

"You are not going anywhere. Not until I know what's happened here."

Sir Reginald began to straighten his coat and cuffs.

Panicked, Sophia whirled on Dougal. "
Please
, I must—"

Out in the hallway, a commotion arose as new guests arrived. Over the babble came a voice she knew all too well.

"Red!" Sophia freed her arm. "Dougal, I must see why my father's here."

Dougal's gaze met hers. For an instant, she was lost in the green depths. She could see his desire for her, mixed with the anger that was building.

He released her. "Go. Greet your father. I'm staying here to have a word with Sir Reginald."

Fine. Let him deal with Sir Reginald. She nodded, a delicious shiver traveling through her as Dougal possessive gaze burned into her.

He moved aside, effectively blocking Sir Reginald's departure.

In the great hall, Red balanced precariously on a pair of crutches, looking outraged. As Sophia began to cross to him, she realized his gaze was locked furiously on the other side of the hall.

Standing there was an old gentleman dressed in the epitome of decades-old fashion. His eyes were bright blue, and upon his head rested a powdered wig, the curls flowing down either side of his thin, wrinkled face. An extraordinary number of silver fobs and porcelain buttons glimmered on his puce waistcoat, which was edged with silver lace. A coat of fine silk hung from his thin shoulders, while his silk breeches were accented by striped stockings and ridiculously high-heeled shoes.

The old gentleman lifted his silver-knobbed cane and pointed it at Red. "You!" he intoned like an actor in a play. "I told you never to return to England!"

"And I didn't," Red snapped. "At least, not until my little Sophie wished to settle down, after her mother's death."

The older man thumped his cane and said in a voice that warbled with doom and emotion, "My Beatrice wouldn't have died if she'd been here in England and not in some drafty inn in a foreign clime. I hold
you
responsible for her death, MacFarlane."

His Beatrice?

"I took good care of her, I did," Red snapped, hobbling closer and ignoring the hovering Angus's murmured protests. "Beatrice loved me." He added grudgingly, "She loved you, too, but you were too stubborn to accept her as she was."

Sophia stared at the old man, stunned. "You… you are my grandfather!"

Red turned. "Sophie! I was worried to death about you, lass, so I came to—"

Sophia stepped around him, her gaze locked on the older man. "
Are
you my grandfather?"

The man stared at Sophia as if struck by lightning.

Red made a sound of disgust. "Aye, he's your grandfather, though a more worthless arse I couldn't name."

"You—you—you—!" The old man limped forward with his cane, his sallow face blazing with anger. "You've already stolen my daughter, MacFarlane, I'll not allow you to keep me from my granddaughter, as well."

Sophia looked squarely at her father. "You never told me he was still alive."

Red said through his teeth, "There was no point, for there's no meaner, more petty man in all of God's England."

"At least I'm not a wastrel," the old man snapped.

Red started toward the old man, but Sophia stepped between them. "Red, don't."

He looked as if he might burst into flames, then snapped, "I came to get you, Sophie. Have Mary bring your things, and let's go."

"I can't leave, Red. Both the deed and my jewels have gone missing, and I must find them."

"Missing? Where in the hell are they?"

"I don't know. I thought…" She turned her clear blue gaze to the old man, who stood watching her, his expression a blend of amazement and rapture. "I beg your pardon, but I take it that you're the earl of Ware?"

The old man's wrinkled lips folded into a faint smile. "Yes."

"Do you have my jewels and the deed to my house?"

The man reached into his pocket, pulled out her diamond set, and held it out to her.

She accepted the jewelry with bemusement. "Red, I believe introductions are in order."

Red audibly ground his teeth. "Sophie, this is your grandfather, the man who callously turned his back on your mama when she was but seventeen."

The earl stiffened. "My Beatrice ran away from home. She had no respect for her position." He looked at Sophia, and his gaze softened. "You look just like her."

"Thank you. It's… it's nice to meet you. I always wanted a grandpapa." She turned toward the sitting room, looking over Dougal's shoulder to Sir Reginald. "
You
told the earl I was here."

Sir Reginald nodded. "I hope you don't mind, but I borrowed your necklace to send to the earl."

The old man's head turned with a pleased expression. "Ah, there you are, my boy. Sir Reginald is my godson," he told Sophia.

Sophia was confused. "I still don't understand."

Sir Reginald said, "There is a portrait of your mother in the earl's London home. When I first saw you, I was certain I'd seen you before, but I couldn't remember where. Then I saw your jewelry, and I knew. To be certain, I sent the necklace to the earl. He responded just today." Sir Reginald put a hand in his pocket. "Blast it! Where is that letter?"

Sophia pulled it from her pocket. "I have it here."

Sir Reginald's voice lifted with amazement. "You took that from me? When we were—"

"Yes," she said, her color high. "I thought you'd sold my jewelry and that the envelope contained the payment I wanted proof, so I took it."

"By kissing me?"

Outside, lightning cracked.

"You
kissed
him?" Dougal demanded.

"Only once."

"Actually, it was twice," Sir Reginald said softly.

Dougal punched him, sending the dandy flying into the wall, where he slid to the floor.

"B'God, that's a nice one!" Red cried. "MacLean, I'd like to see you in a real mill."

"Aye," the earl agreed. "He's got a good solid left."

"What do
you
know about boxing?" Red asked rudely.

"I've seen every large match for the last—"

Thunder crashed as lightning sent shards of light flashing into the great hall.

"That's enough," Dougal said firmly, noting Sophia's pale face. He shot a hard look at the earl. "Why are you here? You obviously aren't fond of MacFarlane."

"I came for my granddaughter."

"You can't have her!" Red snapped. "She's not a possession, you fool!"

The earl flushed. "I didn't mean to suggest she was. Damn you, MacFarlane, I've come to make amends!" He faced Sophia. "My dear, I was a hothead when I was younger, full of pride. Because of that, I reacted badly when my Beatrice chose your father. I cut her off without a cent, telling myself that it was no more than she deserved. But after she left…" The old man's voice quavered. "I missed her so badly. I never knew how much I loved my daughter until she was gone."

Sophia nodded slowly. "I am certain she missed you, too."

Red hobbled forward. "She cried herself to sleep almost every night for a year!"

The earl's entire body seemed to sag against his cane. "I tried to find her, to find you, but you never stayed anywhere long enough. I sent men to
France
and
Italy
and anywhere I could think of, but to no avail."

There was a long silence.

Red frowned. "You tried to find us?"

"Yes. To apologize." The earl's lips quivered. "I never got the chance." He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes. "Pride is a horrible thing." He sighed.